


How Rodney Came to Be in Iowa

by sheafrotherdon



Series: A Farm in Iowa 'Verse [24]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-25
Updated: 2008-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So how's you find a Baffa?" Finn asks, looking up, wide-eyed and curious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Rodney Came to Be in Iowa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madeline871](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=madeline871).



> To the prompt 'A 'remember how we met' story that tells us why Rodney was on a dirt road when his tire blew in the first place' for madeline871

"Daddy?"

"Hmmmm?" Rodney's sprawled on one of the two couches that take up an awful lot of space in the living room, journal held up to his nose, mostly inattentive of Finn playing happily with Legos on the floor. John's content to do nothing much but watch them, sprawled on his own couch; his energy's almost entirely devoted to the tricky task of digesting dinner and planning mischief for later that night.

"You from Can'da," Finn observes.

John watches as Rodney blinks and peers over his journal. "Yes?"

"An' Baffa," Finn says, pausing for a second to jam two particularly stubborn bricks together, "is from I'wa."

"Uh, approximately, I suppose you could say that, yes," Rodney agrees.

"So how's you find a Baffa?" Finn asks, looking up, wide-eyed and curious.

John grins. "Bought me in a catalog," he offers, drumming his fingers on his belly.

Finn looks intrigued while Rodney simply splutters with indignation "Oh, lovely, absolutely, why not just tell him you're my pleasure bot, my Russian mail-order . . . Finn? I did not buy your father."

"Hokay." Finn jams some more bricks together. "How then?"

John smiles helpfully.

"Well. I. That – it was . . ." Rodney pulls a face; his ears are turning pink. "Completely by accident!" he manages after a couple of seconds of making small, half-crazed noises.

"Accident?" Finn asks. "Like with the deers?"

"No, no, well, actually, yes, there was a car involved, so vaguely like that I suppose you could say, but – no, see, I was supposed to _fly_ , directly to Colorado, but there were storms across – well. Across everywhere, I was half convinced the Russians had actually figured out how to manipulate the weather at last, it's not like Rusovic hadn't been _trying_ for seventeen years, but anyway, storms, no direct flights, I connected through Chicago, but all the crews _there_ were grounded because they'd logged too many flight hours due to – you guessed it! – weather delays. And when they offered to get me to Colorado Springs by Tuesday morning – backlogs, other passengers, _whatever_ \- I pointed out it would be quicker for me to _drive_ , and they _took me at my word_ , gave me a discounted rate on a shoddy piece of American engineering when everyone _knows_ you should only drive foreign cars if you have any self-respect or particular fondness for surviving side-impact collisions but anyway, coupon, discount, car, drive, drive, and I needed gas, and the gas station was absolutely not near the highway and there was glare, sun, a Doritos packet, and – well. Then I was in the middle of nowhere and – "

"And didn't notice that he was riding hard on his left side," John put in.

"Yes, _thank you_ , Captain Mechanical – you can get over that anytime you like you know, it's not as if you didn't get something out of the experience other than shards of rubber littering your verge."

"My verge?" John repeats, amused.

"Shut up," Rodney snaps. "And so yes, my tire blew, and it was Saturday evening, and the whole world abandoned me, and I was forced to drink beer and not use my cell phone and then, well . . ."

"Then you's in LOVE," Finn crows, fist-pumping.

Rodney squirms on the couch, forehead bright red. "Well, I. You know. Not immediately, I mean, your Baffa was – there were jeans and oil stains and a crippling lack of immediate amenities but . . . um."

"Hey buddy," John says, catching Finn's attention. "He found me 'cause he was meant to."

"Hokay," Finn says and, apparently more satisfied with this answer, sprawls on his stomach to make bigger, more elaborate abstract art with his bricks. John glances over at Rodney, who's staring at him, open-mouthed.

"You'll catch flies like that," John points out.

"Shut up," Rodney says, looking utterly twitterpatted, and hides behind his journal again.


End file.
